


Whenever You Are

by bluetigerlilies



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: But only a tiny bit, Canon Universe, Dave POV, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Timeline Fuckery, post-season 2 Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetigerlilies/pseuds/bluetigerlilies
Summary: “I love you,” Klaus would say sometimes, when Dave would peel the wallpaper. He didn’t know why.“I love you,” Dave said back.Then Klaus kissed him, and Dave remembered what those lips felt like.--After being discharged from the Marines for a wound, Dave has vivid dreams of the man who tried to stop him from enlisting years ago. Dave can't place why the man feels so important. Perhaps the dreams are real.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Whenever You Are

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! And I wanted to write something really self-indulgent after exams... This is a random idea I had in which post-season 2 Dave (now a proper adult) experiences dreams where he may or may not be slipping into the other Dave’s timeline (the Dave from season 1 who Klaus fell in love with). Please forgive the dramatics and the confusing format... I wrote this after three glasses of wine.

He’d been considering peeling at the wallpaper before he succumbed to his exhaustion. Dave wasn’t sure why, but one moment he was scrubbing his boots and the next moment he was overcome with the intense urge to uncover whatever was hidden behind his walls.

He had expected to see words for reasons unknown. Instead, he was blinded by a cloud of powder that must have once been glue that flew off the wall where he roughly lifted the paper. He could feel the coarse material, the wall underneath, yet to his eyes there was nothing there. Just nothing.

Dave leaned into the Nothing, paying only a sliver of attention to the little voice in the back of his head that wondered if he’d taken anything strong before bed. Perhaps his newly prescribed painkillers, which they were practically handing to vets like candy. He gave into the Nothing, let it guide him to Somewhere.

Klaus’ hair had a chestnut tinge to it when it was backlit by sunlight. The curls atop his head bounced as he spoke, stubbornly falling wherever they pleased. He moved a certain way that time of day. A little slower, a little liquid, tension in his shoulders and eyes softer than it normally was. He wasn’t yet sober, but that wasn’t it. He wasn’t guarded yet, still basking in a sleepy haze, like a warm bath. It was one of the only times he was ever so calm and blissful.

He tilted his chin skyward as he leaned back against his pillow. Dave could predict his movements before he reached for his pack of cigarettes on the night table. Chestnut curls sticking out the folds of his pillow, he lit the cigarette between his lips, going slightly cross-eyed as he watched the tip of it catch the flame.

Those green eyes flicked up, intensely focused. Lately they were a little glazed over, not fully opened, not fully alert. Not like the wildness they’d emitted the first night Dave’s eyes had locked on them.

“You’re sta-a-ring.”

That high sing-song voice. Klaus had a little dimple at the corner of his mouth when he was amused, a little wrinkle. He thought he was so fucking funny. But Dave would have the last laugh the second he could attack that mouth with hungry kisses.

Dave said nothing. He moved his hand from its place supporting his own head to play with Klaus’ hair. Klaus’ grin spread wider across his face, showing teeth. He squinted as he chuffed out a laugh, inches from Dave’s face.

“Are you still drunk?”

Dave’s neck started to hurt since his hand was no longer supporting his head, so he let it fall. He snorted, burying his nose in the side of Klaus’ pillow.

He could feel Klaus’ lips against his forehead as he teased quietly, smile in his voice,

“Lightweight.”

Dave tried to contain his laughter. He threaded his fingers through those curls, subconsciously at first, but he realized it was a comfort to him. He focused on the feeling of the soft strands between his thumb and forefinger, calloused from years of service.

War had changed them both, roughened them like freshly cut stones. He was thankful Klaus’ hair hadn’t changed. It was as soft and thick as it was the first time Dave had buried his fingers in it after that night at the disco.

The wallpaper curled around the pads of his fingers.

Klaus.

Klaus. Klaus. Klaus.

Dave knew he wouldn’t forget, but he repeated it anyway.

He knew the name. He remembered the face, but barely. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew it was imperative that he couldn’t forget Klaus Hargreeves.

After he had showed up at his uncle’s hardware store that day in 1963, Dave had kept his eyes open everywhere he went. He wasn’t sure why he was looking for him, or even  _ if _ he was looking for him, or why he  _ needed _ to. But he did. He needed to.

That day had been slightly humid. Dave remembered that because when he closed his eyes he could hear the rattle of the shoddy air conditioner his uncle had gotten nearly for free as it sputtered to life, could feel it cool his skin as he imagined passing by it on his way to show a customer the paints. But mostly, he remembered the way Klaus Hargreeves’ hair sprung up from its place at his shoulders, stubborn curls tightening like corkscrews in the damp heat, slight hint of chestnut in the afternoon sun.

Dave closed his eyes against the cloud of dried glue as he tore a chunk of wallpaper down past the place where his bedframe met the wall.

Dave mentally counted back. He’d had his bed for four months, the exact amount of time it had been since he was discharged. He rested his palm over his right shoulder as he remembered. The ache was still there when he moved. He let himself lie there for a moment, feeling the scar, so close to the center of his chest. Too damn close. Close enough that it didn’t want to heal no matter what the medics did. Dave took a breath. So long as he could feel the pain and the raise of the scar on his skin, he knew where he was. He wasn’t in some sunlit hotel room in bed with a mysterious man… Klaus Hargreeves. That was the name.

“I love you,” Klaus would say sometimes, when Dave would peel the wallpaper. He didn’t know why.

“I love you,” Dave said back.

Then Klaus kissed him, and Dave remembered what those lips felt like.

“You know, I used to write what they would say to me on my bedroom walls?” said Klaus’ voice. Dave had to locate it.

Klaus didn’t seem to notice Dave’s momentary disorientation. He was leaning against a tree trunk, bony knees poking through the overgrown jungle floor as he held them close to his chest. Dave’s hand was on his, hidden between their bodies and underneath the thick grass and dark night sky.

“I didn’t know that,” Dave said.

Klaus smiled at nothing. His eyes went vacant for a moment before they caught on something Dave couldn’t see.

“I’d like to see it after all this.”

Klaus hummed in question and asked, eyes still ahead, “You want to see where I grew up?” His jaw was tight. Dave could see the bones of it working beneath his skin.

“Yeah, I mean…” Dave started, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Klaus said nothing. He smirked under his nose, eyes downcast. After a moment he rested his head against the tree.

“Tell me about your childhood,” he smiled, words escaping his lips in a breathy sigh.

A young boy passed Dave a comic book in a treehouse once. Dave remembered what he looked like, freckled and tall, but he would never be able to remember his name. They were in the same grade, and he was Dave’s only friend.

Perhaps he had blocked out his name.

Dave took the comic book from the boy’s hand and their fingers brushed. He felt queasy, but in an inexplicably good way--giddy, excited, perhaps. Well, it was exciting, having a friend.

When they were a little older, a little more knowledgeable about ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, that boy put his arms around Dave and smashed his face into the brick wall behind their school and kicked him enough times that Dave couldn’t walk home.

“ _ Fuck  _ him.”

Dave shrugged.

“No. Dave, I would go back in time and beat the shit out of that kid. I don’t care how old he was.”

Dave shook his head. He had overstepped back then. It was his own fault, and he had made peace with that fact a long time ago.

Trying to explain that to Klaus had only seemed to rile him up more. It clearly didn’t sit well with him. He squirmed where he sat in the grass, snarl stuck on his face. Dave could hear him grind his molars as he reached for his pack beside him, fingers twitching over the fabric but not moving to open it.

“I wish I could take you somewhere safe…” Klaus murmured, but his voice was clear, “To a time where you don’t have to hide who you are.”

The wallpaper had slipped through his fingers at some point but Dave wasn’t sure when. He held on and tore the remainder of it off the wall. He couldn’t remember what he was just thinking about, or where he had just been.

Klaus Hargreeves.

Klaus Hargreeves, he said to himself again.

Behind the wallpaper were words. Sharp, erratic scribbles. Some were illegible, some were bold and impossible to miss. Dave knew he was no longer in his apartment.

The floor looked to be a hundred years old yet it didn’t creak when he walked. His fingers ghosted a section of angry letters carved deeply into the drywall, chunks of it missing in some places, but he could not feel the rough surface.

He heard the familiar jingle of dog tags and quickly turned to the source of the noise. Klaus sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, as he dragged his nails over his closed eyes and sighed. He was talking to a boy who stood in the doorway, but Dave wasn’t listening to what they were saying. His chest felt heavy and sharp, like something was simultaneously tugging him along and anchoring him in place.

When he finally saw Klaus’ eyes, they were exhausted, grey, wandering about the room, but not erratically as they usually were. Klaus reached for a shoe on the floor and tugged it over his foot, leg raised, and Dave wanted to laugh. He found himself relieved in recognizing Klaus’ mannerisms and speech patterns, as if this man might have been a different Klaus, or not Klaus at all. By all Dave could figure out, there was only one Klaus.

Dave’s eyes wandered to the dog tags that clinked against each other on Klaus’ chest. He had to squint to get a good look at them but he already knew who they belonged to, and he didn’t know how.

Dave brought his hand up to pacify a sudden twinge in the middle of his chest, over his heart. He was not expecting his hand to be covered in fresh blood when he held it out in front of him.

But wasn’t he?

Klaus stood. Dave moved to stop him. The tug wanted to take him along, and he let it.

Something booted him out.

Klaus had screamed. He had begged for a medic. He had cried.

His fingers were shaking as he pressed them against Dave’s chest. The feeling of them there was imprinted in his skin, and Dave didn’t want it to go away.

Klaus Hargreeves. He had to say his name again because it was slipping away. Klaus Hargreeves had told him years ago, when Dave had sought him out himself. He had told him how Dave would die.

Was there one Klaus Hargreeves, or two?

Klaus Hargreeves was a stranger, a false profit come to trick Dave into giving his future away to silly fantasies. But he was everything Dave had, everything he ever wanted, and he knew him. He fucking knew him. He’d searched for him in dreams, and he’d found him when he woke up.

Klaus’ hair had a tinge of chestnut in the sunlight.

Dave’s fingers were pressed against the seam of the wallpaper. His arm had been extended long enough for his circulation to be lost. His nerves vibrated when he bent his elbow, and he stretched out across his bed. His bed--the one he’d had for four months, since he’d come back from ‘Nam. Sergeant Katz, relieved of service because of a stubborn shoulder wound. What had it all been for?

Dave swallowed dryly. Well, at least he knew he was back.

Dave rolled onto his stomach. The wallpaper was completely intact, which was odd, but he wasn’t sure why that would be odd.

He pressed his face into his pillow. There was something he had been trying to remember. Something so, so important.

Dave squinted at his one small window as the first ray of morning sunlight crept into his room. It cast a bright streak over his sheets that filled him with a confusing surge of bliss.

Klaus Hargreeves.

Klaus Hargreeves. Klaus Hargreeves. Klaus. Klaus… Klaus…

The name had started to lose its meaning, sounding instead like a string of foreign syllables, but Dave said it aloud again and again, marvelling in the warmth it brought to his chest.

He felt silly, but he stole a glance at his wall calendar anyway, just to make sure.

1969\. Just as he’d thought. Everything was normal again. Well, it would be until he would fall asleep and once again meet the stranger and love of his life with the green eyes and chestnut-tinged hair.

Dave sighed and ran his fingers over the wallpaper, still just as he’d left it the night before. No mysterious words, no Nothing, no Somewhere.

“Good morning, Klaus Hargreeves, whenever you are.”


End file.
